


While You Were Mine

by NikkiGrand



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, canon couples will make an appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 03:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiGrand/pseuds/NikkiGrand
Summary: “I could have lived in that moment–-where it was just us two, alone in space, swaying to a song she sang-–forever.But I had no intention of loving her. And yet, I did. I do. ”In which Kakashi falls in love 6 days before D-Day and every day after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Naruto.

Listen.

I had no intentions of loving her, much less falling into love with her.

But then I looked into her eyes—green like glittering sea glass on those beaches you'd see on glossy post-cards—and I thought,  _Oh hell._

Because I knew.

My heart fluttered like a hummingbird as she held my stare, her own rosebud lips curling into a shy smile even as she lifted a small hand to wave, and I knew.

It happened like this.

* * *

It was the summer of 1944, a few days before we were supposed to set off on Operation Overlord, and the U.S.O. was gracious enough to host a small dance for all the infantry Marines and soldiers who'd be departing on that fateful mission.

 _"What heroic men,"_  they'd whisper.

 _"Poor bastards,"_  is what we heard.

But it was quite alright. We had whiskey and scotch; and there was good music and pretty women to spend the night with. I want to say that wooing one of those dainty ladies into my bed and never speaking to her again was not my intention—but that would make me a liar and I've prided myself in being an honest man.

As a boy, my father had told me that the only thing a man had to his name was the way it would be remembered. If you were dishonest, you'd be known for the rest of your days as a fraud. If you were lacking the capacity for loyalty, then those who carried your name would lack it as well.

I've held those words close all my life; and when he died in the first war I was proud that I carried the name of a man who gave his life so that another may live. He was a true hero. I wanted to follow in his footsteps for there was no greater honor.

I was the only one of my line left and, up until then, I had no intention of continuing it. I was already thirty-five years old and unwed with no desire to change my status as a bachelor. I had already been to France, had participated in the Guadalcanal Campaign and had seen the worst the world had to offer.

I had lost men I loved like brothers in the trenches, had met foreign women who desperately offered their bodies in exchange for a piece of chocolate or week old moldy bread. I've seen children burned and left to rot in the mud of country roads, and I've seen men succumb to the depravity of it all and take their own morbid trophies.

In the same breath, I should tell you that I am no saint. War changes a person—makes you do things you never thought yourself capable of.

You see, when you're holed up in the mud, back against another man for warmth and breathing shallowly because you don't want the enemy to hear you, it's different.

That same man shares his rations with you, cleans your weapon and sharpens your bayonet for you while you're asleep. He teaches you the meaning of brotherhood when he hauls you to your bloody feet by the straps of your pack when marches across the terrain become too much, shares his dismal supply of water with you and gives you his lucky gas mask.

Even though you're stronger than him, a better marksman than he is, he is the one who teaches you to survive out there in fields heavy with the weight of the dead.

So, when you see that man—not you when it should have been, because he had been laughing and joking about pie when he playfully shoved you away— blown to bits by an enemy mine, it's different.

The things around you would not change, but they would be just… _different_.

I never wanted to bring anyone into  _my_  different.

But I was captivated by the red stain of her lips and I no longer wanted different. I wanted home.

Listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "that man" is..well, can you guess?
> 
> "My different." Kakashi is talking about PTSD.
> 
> My favorite quote from this chapter is:
> 
> "But I was captivated by the red stain of her lips and I no longer wanted different. I wanted home."


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

.

.

I knew I was a handsome man. In Europe, despite their hunger, women in run down villages would offer their company in exchange for mine. They'd whisper in their broken English that, if they died tomorrow, they wanted their last night to be spent in the arms of a beautiful man and pretend they were loved.

I could never bring myself to lay with them, but I shared many chaste kisses with women whose fates I sometimes wonder about.

To them, simply being an American was exotic; but here, in the States, I was exotic enough to be met with wary looks of distrust and sometimes prejudiced remarks.

You see, my mother was Japanese and my father was a tall man of German descent. As you know, these two countries were not quite friendly with the United States at the time; and even though my father was a hero and I was a decorated Sergeant, I'd sometimes hear  _dirt_ y _Kraut_  or  _fuckin Jap_  when I passed by.

I look more like my father than my mother, though I have her eyes—that's the most "Jap" thing about me. That's what gives me away. My father had fine spun white-blond hair before he greyed completely in his early twenties, just as I did. His eyes were a brown so deep I made a game of finding the pupils as a child. As I said, my own eyes are my mother's and hers were a grey that almost looked blue.

My exotic features appealed to girls as a teen, but after Pearl Harbor, it was difficult to find anyone who wasn't of Japanese descent who would look at me.

It also didn't help that my name was unmistakably Japanese. The men in my unit could barely pronounce  _Guadalcanal,_ much less  _Kakashi_ or Sergeant  _Hatake._

Therefore, at this U.S.O. event, I was quite thoroughly ignored.

I was standing at a high table on one end of the empty dance floor while uniformed men jeered and whistled at the beautifully dressed women on the other. Swirling the ice in my whiskey, I wanted to laugh. They were brave out here on home soil, but the beach was a week away and—despite my pessimism—I hoped that they'd be just as brave then as they were at that moment.

Gods knew we would need all the valor we could get.

"Jesus, you'd think they've never seen a woman before."

I shrugged a shoulder as a man from my squad came to stand at my table. My eyes locked onto the way his tanned hand lifted to fidget with his uniform's tie agitatedly. While his blue eyes scanned the dance floor, his face contorted into a grimace as he struggled to loosen it.

"Damn, I hate these things. I can't wait to get out of it—if you know what I mean." He waggled fine blond brows at me, mouth curling into a lecherous grin, and I couldn't help but follow the way the scars on his cheeks shadowed the movement.

His name was James. He was a young man—more of a boy, really—at 21 years of age and he'd already been subjected to the worst parts of war: capture. We got him back mostly intact. Mostly. He'd only been with the Germans for two days, but they had carved lines into his cheeks on the first—three on each side.

I knew not to ask, but James had a best friend in another squad who he'd confided to and I'd overheard the tale.

At the moment of his capture, he had tried to joke and befriend the Germans because that was just the type of person James was. It baffled me sometimes, how he believed so strongly that man was inherently good and could be appealed to with kindness even after all that we have seen and done in this war.

The Germans didn't take too kindly to being taken as fools, even if it was with good intentions, and sought to teach him a lesson.

_"Whiskers for a sly fox."_

And so we found him, bloodied and broken, but still smiling when we took him back. We left one for him, the one who'd done the deed, but he let him go with a kind smile. James was too good for this world and I felt a pit where my guts should be at knowing that he'd be right behind me when we stormed Normandy.

"Aren't you gonna grab one for yourself,  _sensei?"_

"You keep calling me that and you'll give the others more reason to kick you while you're down."

The blonde rolled his eyes at my warning, hand still fidgeting with his tie. The buttons on the cuff of his sleeve knocked against his ribbons, drawing my eyes to the one indicative of a Purple Heart, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

He was too good for Purple Hearts and World Wars.

"I don't give a shit. I still don't understand why you won't call me  _Naruto_ like I asked," he said, reaching behind him to casually swipe a bottle of scotch from the distracted table behind him. The drunkards hadn't even noticed.

"Because it means fish cake," I sighed, exasperated with this tired argument we'd had many times before.

"Yeah, and I like them!"

This is how James became  _N_ a _ruto._ About a year ago, he was assigned to my squad as a private and was as naïve as could be. He was never cowardly, but had a tendency to be brash and unpredictable. He was also very well-liked by the squad.

Until he chose to befriend the "Jap Sergeant."

You must understand—James was blonde, blue eyed, and quite handsome. He was the poster child for the American Soldier, a Marine's Marine, a Captain America of sorts.

Despite working well together, this squad was relatively new to me and resentful of being put under the command of someone with a "questionable" background. In short, they did not like me one bit. I could hardly get them to complete assigned tasks without discord and the Captain was always cross with me because of it.

I had been in my own section of the camp, trying to make some ill attempted version of field  _Narutomaki_  because, in a moment of weakness, I had missed my mother. She passed in my childhood; but in that nasty summer of 1943, I wanted to be taken back to cloudy days and homemade ramen and a feeling of comfort and safety.

James had sat next to me and asked what I was making; leading to the sharing of some godawful Narutomaki and James adopting the moniker  _Naruto_  because he, for a reason I will never understand, liked it enough to take it up as his nickname.

We all had nicknames. My old squad called me Scarecrow, a friend of mine in the Army was called the Green Beast, and James' best friend's brother was called Crow.

When he'd asked the others to call him that, they'd been disgusted and subsequently ostracized him. Soon, James took to hanging around me and learning some Japanese along the way. His favorite thing to call me was  _sensei_ or  _senpai,_ and it rankled the intolerant something fierce to hear the unit's Captain America be "poisoned" by the resident "Nip."

But this isn't about him.

Taking a swig from the bottle, making a face as it burned its way down, James pointed a finger at me.

"Call me  _Naruto_  now before you have no choice but to do it at my grave." He said and I blinked at him in shock.

"Don't say things like that," I cautioned when I managed to form words passed the knot in my throat. "It's bad luck."

He shrugged. His eyes looked so impossibly blue and resigned.

"We leave for D-Day in 7 days. You can't possibly think that everyone's gonna make it back."

It was jarring to hear eternally optimistic James speak like that, so I could do nothing but say, "Okay, Naruto."

His answering grin was dazzling.

But again, this isn't about him.

" _Whoa,_ " he breathed, eyes riveted to a point over my shoulder as he slowly lowered the bottle, "Would you get a look at them!?"

Raising a brow, I turned around to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that could grab Naruto's attention.

This is where it happens.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's your fave quote?
> 
> Mine is:
> 
> "Call me Naruto now before you have no choice but to do it at my grave." He said and I blinked at him in shock.
> 
> "Don't say things like that," I cautioned when I managed to form words passed the knot in my throat. "It's bad luck."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn!

.

.

She was dancing the jitterbug with her friends: a tall, beautiful blonde and a stunning busty brunette. But I, for some reason, only had eyes for her. I had never been so captivated by a woman before and something thudded in my chest so loudly for I could not tear my eyes away.

The blonde woman twirled her once, twice, and she spun with a squeal as the third time lifted her flowing skirt almost to the point of indecency. The blonde laughed, the brunette covering her own chuckles with a dainty hand, and grabbed her again. This time, she spun and spun and spun her until I was afraid I might have to catch her when she let go. Her coiffed hair—so strawberry blonde it was almost the pink of cherry blossoms—flowed around her shoulders and bounced as she came to a stop directly in front of me with a breathless laugh.

This is when it happens.

With wide eyes, I could not help but be struck as she opened her eyes from where she must have unknowingly closed them. They were the greenest eyes I had ever seen and were dancing with such joy I'd swear she defined it. They glittered like gems in the low light of the dance floor and my eyes were riveted as they brightened impossibly at the sight of me. She opened her mouth to speak and my heart was pounding so loudly in my chest I was worried I would not hear her words.

But then the song ended and the blonde quickly grabbed her by the hand to pull her back to the other side of the dance floor and I must have cursed every god in existence at that moment. She gave me an apologetic look from over her shoulder, as if saying, 'what can you do?' and I sighed.

I turned back to look at Naruto but he was enraptured by the brunette who was walking past after a trip to what I assumed was the rest room. Her perfume was sweet and lovely, but not to my tastes. Though, Naruto looked like he might start salivating at any moment.

In a way I hoped was unassuming and not too eager, I turned back to see if I could catch a glimpse of the woman who had unknowingly unraveled me with only her eyes, and there she was.

Staring at me, unabashed and bold—yet the quirk of her lips was shy and the curl of her fingers uncertain—with those green, green eyes that bleached every blade of grass and every leaf in the world.

Feeling brave, I waved back at her and was rewarded with a toothy grin. My blood roared in my ears and I quickly spun around, unbelieving of the fact that I was a man of thirty-five years who was behaving like a teenage boy who'd never spoken to a woman before.

The band began to play a song meant for swinging and Naruto and the other men hoot and hollered as liquid courage made them approach the giggling women. Naruto made a beeline for the brunette he had his eye on earlier and, after draining the rest of my whiskey, I made my way over to the girl this whole tale is about.

The closer I came to her, the lovelier she became. Her blonde friend—who was just as beautiful up close—smiled at me encouragingly even as a pale black-haired man named Sai (another Japanese-American who I'd been on a few fire missions with) pulled her away by the hand to dance. The girl looked up at me and it was only then that I realized how small and petite she was.

Still, I saw no fault in her.

"May I have this dance, Ma'am?" I asked as I offered her my hand, politely because I may be a grunt, but I was a grunt with manners.

She giggled and I'd like to say the sound was that of tinkling bells, but it was not and yet I was still entranced. She placed her gloved hand in mine, the fabric catching on callouses, and then I swung her onto the dance floor.

Every time I dipped, spun, twirled, and sometimes even lifted her, I caught hints of large smiles and silent laughs and I want to say that they were meaningless little things—but they were the beginning of everything.

We must have danced for what felt like hours, but were really only minutes, and the band smoothly transitioned into a soft, slow song. We were breathless, carefree and smiling at each other and the war was the farthest thing from my mind in that moment.

If not for the uniform, I could have almost forgotten that there was a war happening at all. I could almost forget that out of all of us in this room, in 7 days, only 8 of us might come out alive.

Swaying to the music, I remained silent as she caught her breath.

"Thank you for the dance, Sergeant…?" She started imploringly, looking up at me from beneath her lashes and the light hit her  _just so_ that I was able to see a faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"Hatake," I said, voice smooth as water even though nerves were turning my stomach to gravel. "You can call me Kakashi if you'd like."

Her brow furrowed and for a moment I was afraid she'd look at me with disgust and pull away, but then she giggled and said, "Scarecrow?!"

Shock made me breathless when I asked, "How'd you know?!"

Her smile was secretive as she pressed herself closer. Not too close to be inappropriate, but enough to show what she thought of me.

I hoped I wasn't taking it the wrong way.

"My parents are  _obsessed_ with Japan," she said, as if imparting some great secret. "My name is Sakura."

 _"_ _Sakura?"_  I repeated, incredulous, and she nodded.

"I know! When I was in school my teachers would call me Sarah!" She said, shaking her head. "It used to make me so angry because that's not my name!"

I could sympathize. All throughout my educational career as a child I'd been called many different names. The one they settled on was Karl and I hated it because it wasn't  _my_ name. I am Kakashi and despite the strife my name and heritage have caused me, I would never change it.

Soon, our topic of conversation turned to that of our childhood, then our favorite foods, pets, siblings, what have you. She seemed to me, at that moment, a song on the radio I would never tire of hearing. She was so open with her thoughts and her feelings, so unwilling to hide her true self—even from a virtual stranger such as myself—that it was all incredibly endearing.

Somehow, without us noticing, we had danced to song after song and only registered the passing of time when the band announced that they'd be playing their last for the night. I glanced around me for the first time in what seemed like forever and noticed that most of the men were in the company of women. If they were not, they were passed out at their tables. I saw Naruto in the corner speaking softly to the woman from before, her hand in his and she listening attentively.

My own hand was clammy from holding Sakura's for so long, and I distantly worried that she was uncomfortable; but as soon as the first note rang from the strings on stage, she turned to me with such an excited grin my worries were blown away.

"Oh, I love this song!" She exclaimed, shuffling closer as she began to hum along.

I couldn't help but smile down at her. I'd heard the song before as it was quite popular and it was a shame the band had not had a singer to accompany them. I was brought out of my thoughts by a weight pressing against me and on impulse my arms wrapped around Sakura's tiny waist as she lay her head on my chest.

I could not speak, would not even dare to breathe, as she wrapped her arms around my frame to hold me close. I felt, more than heard, the vibrations of her sweet voice against my chest as she began to sing softly.

 _"_ _We'll meet again,_

_Don't know where._

_Don't know when._

_But I know we'll meet again some sunny day."_

I could have lived in that moment—where it was just us two, alone in space, gently swaying to a song she sang—forever.

At that moment, she became more than just a girl with whom to spend the night. Sakura became my salvation, someone to keep me alive. And I know you'll say,  _that's just the war speaking,_ but there was something about her I wanted to come home to—would always want to come home to.

It hit me with a desperation, the desire to make her mine, and I knew that—in some way—it  _was_ the war urging me to make the best of what could very well be my last days on this god given Earth. But, for the first time in years, I was suddenly afraid to die. For the first time, I didn't want to follow orders with the blind sort of loyalty and obligation I've felt all my life. For the first time, I didn't want to go back. I didn't want to fight anymore.

I wanted to stay there—with her.

I was suddenly afraid of this weakness, for I was never weak, and I will admit that it would take me many days to realize that this budding love was a strength I'd foster until my last breath.

The song ended all too soon and I was reluctant to let her go, my hand lingering on her waist as she stepped away with a soft smile.

"Well, I suppose this is it," Sakura said, hands smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. "I had a wonderful evening, Kakashi. I wish you luck and safety overseas."

She began to turn away and, at once, I knew that if I let her go, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I would think of her every night—imagining the smell of her perfume, remembering the weight of her palm pressing against mine—and grieve all of the memories I would never have or make with her.

I had lived with too many regrets, I could not—would not—let her become another.

And so I reached out, caught her gently by the hand, and asked, "Can I see you again?"

And,  _oh_ , I could write poetry about her answering smile. It awoke something dormant in me, stole my breath and breathed life into me all at once.

She, without trying or knowing, had looped a red string around my thudding heart and tied it around her little finger.

And all of the reasons why wars were fought in the name of love made sense when she said: " _Yes."_

But we only had 6 days before D-Day, I only had six days to make the most of my life with her. In that moment as she and I made arrangements to see each other I could not help but curse time and fate and the war. It all seemed so cruel that the moment I'd find something to live for, I would be at the brink of losing it all.

I watched her leave with her friends, her address clutched tightly in my hand, with a certain type of anxiousness. There was so much to do—there was so much to learn about each other. However, distantly, I knew that it would be cruel to have her love me and then leave her. After all, every man in that room on that night was a dead man walking.

None of us knew if we'd see June 7th, or any other day after that. It would be inherently cruel to make someone love you, worry for you, and then possibly grieve you.

But I will admit that I was selfish. I had no one to do those things for me and I desperately needed a reason to not recklessly lay down my life. In my mind, I thought I could see Sakura and foster a type of vapid affection for her that would keep me going. You know the type: the one where the soldier marries the girl so that it gives him a reason to live and come home.

So, I'll tell you that I had no intention of  _loving_ her.

Even when Naruto walked out the facility with me and asked about Sakura, I had no intentions of loving her when I jokingly said: "I think I just met my wife."

But,  _listen_.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! I have so many favorite quotes from this chapter! What's yours?!
> 
> One of my faves is: "It awoke something dormant in me, stole my breath and breathed life into me all at once."


End file.
